to tell you that it is quite
impossible. I will not have it thought of. There must be an end of
it."

"Why, papa?"

"Why! I am astonished that you should ask me why."

"I should not have allowed him, papa, to go to you unless I
had,--unless I had loved him."

"Then you must conquer your love. It is disgraceful and must be
conquered."

"Disgraceful!"

"Yes. I am sorry to use such a word to my own child, but it is so.
If you will promise to be guided by me in this matter, if you will
undertake not to see him any more, I will,--if not forget it,--at
any rate pardon it, and be silent. I will excuse it because you were
young, and were thrown imprudently in his way. There has, I believe,
been someone at work in the matter with whom I ought to be more
angry than with you. Say that you will obey me, and there is nothing
within a father's power that I will not do for you, to make your
life happy." It was thus that he strove not to be stern. His heart,
indeed, was tender enough, but there was nothing tender in the tone
of his voice or in the glance of his eye. Though he was very positive
in what he said, yet he was shy and shamefaced even with his own
daughter. He, too, had blushed when he told her that she must conquer
her love.

That she should be told that she had disgraced herself was terrible
to her. That her father should speak of her marriage with this man as
an event that was impossible made her very unhappy. That he should
talk of pardoning her, as for some great fault, was in itself a
misery. But she had not on that account the least idea of giving up
her lover. Young as she was, she had her own peculiar theory on that
matter, her own code of conduct and honour, from which she did not
mean to be driven. Of course she had not expected that her father
would yield at the first word. He, no doubt, would wish that she
should make a more exalted marriage. She had known that she would
have to encounter opposition, though she had not expected to be told
that she had disgraced herself. As she sat there she resolved that
under no pretence would she give up her lover;--but she was so far
abashed that she could not find words to express herself. He, too,
had been silent for a few moments before he again asked her for her
promise.

"Will you tell me, Mary, that you will not see him again?"

"I don't think that I can say that, papa."

"Why not?"

"Oh papa, how can I, when of all the people in the world I love him
t